Return to Red Creek

by Nathan Hystad

  _______________

  Tom was heading over to Red Creek and had on his sunglasses, even though it was another overcast day in the county. Since when had every damned spring morning become a dreary cloud-covered mess? He didn’t remember this from last year’s thaw. He recalled a bright sun and happy people. Now it was the opposite, and he was beginning to understand the foul mood of his co-workers, even in Gilden.

  Tom took a sip of coffee from his shiny metal travel mug and noticed his tongue felt like a cat’s. He wished he’d brought some water instead. He felt hung-over, even though he rarely had more than a glass of red wine on occasion. Last night had been no exception, and he’d gone to bed as soon as he’d entered his tiny house.

  His first stop was meeting with the guy who’d seen something out his back window on the night the girl had gone missing. He was a single man in his early forties, living with his mother. Tom was really seeing the truth about the neighboring town over the last few days. It was in a never-ending economic slump. He’d thought Gilden was small when he’d moved there, but they had most major fast-food places, not that that was a good thing.

  To Tom, it was more a mark of the town’s size than anything. But it also had a recreational center, and a hospital equipped with an emergency room and mostly empty beds. It fed the county, full of eight smaller towns like Red Creek. They had four schools, and a big high school that few of the kids from this area attended.

  Anyone within five miles of Red Creek had to go there by zoning law, even though he’d heard a few bending the rules if they knew whose itch to scratch. It made Tom think about Abigail and her parents owning the dealership in Gilden. Even they couldn’t get around the bureaucracy of those zones, and that made Tom a happy man.

  He pulled into town, taking the highway instead of the back roads this morning. Something about seeing Buzz and his woman last night at the orchard set off an alarm bell in his already throbbing head. She thought she’d heard a scream. At around eleven. He was guessing Brittany had been abducted from her home at close to ten, so the timeline would be sound.

  Deputy Rich had sent him the resident listing for the Orchards condo building first thing in the morning, and the record of seedy tenants had a few priors among them, mostly for drugs or public intoxication. Nothing remotely close to abduction or sex crimes.

  Oddly enough, there were only two tenants with no priors, and one of them was a seventy-year-old woman from Florida, Emma Jeanne. From the information he’d been given, she’d moved to the area two years ago. They had that in common. Maybe he could use it. He decided to add her to the list of interviews, if only because she was a fish out of water here. She might not have the same Creek-bred superstitions as the rest of them, and being clean made her more likely to come forward with any strange sightings.

  Tom absently drove the rest of the way, until he was parked a block away from the victim’s home. He drove by the Tremblays’ home but didn’t see any vehicles in front of the house. They were still scouring the town proper in search of their little girl, but Tom had been told by the deputy that only half as many were volunteering today. It was so sad to see a town give up after three days. They’d been through it before and knew the odds.

  He slowed, reading the house numbers, and found the one from his email last night. Stew Evans. An old entry-level Toyota hatchback sat in the driveway, in front of a single-car garage. The garage door was lined with glass windows at the top, and Tom saw boxes piled high. He wondered when someone had last parked inside.

  His own father had collecting issues, and it had forced Tom to be the polar opposite. He was a minimalist in most ways – so much so that when his wife had kicked him out, he’d only taken one box and a suitcase. He didn’t own much more. If he died today, someone would have an easy job of cleaning out his house.

  Tom stepped out of the car and walked to the guy’s door, knocking three times. An older, portly woman answered, clothed in her sleeping attire. Tom wished she’d at least thrown a robe on. There was far too much trying to push up and out.

  “Is Stew here?” Tom asked.

  “And you are?” the woman asked curtly.

  “Detective Tom Bartlett of the Gilden Police Department.”

  “What did Stewart do? He’s a good kid. Kind of dumb, Detective,” she said.

  “Nothing like that. Is he…”

  “Mom, tell him to meet me out back!” a voice called from somewhere in the house.

  “He said he’ll…” the woman started, and Tom raised a hand to get her to stop.

  “I know. In the back. Thank you, ma’am.”

  He heard her mutter something about being a ma’am as she shut the door. Tom walked to the yard, opening the gate from over the fence. He scanned the area and saw no one back there. Just as the gate latched, the back door opened, revealing a man. He was several years younger than Tom and was surprisingly put together, not what he’d expected after meeting the mother.

  “Sorry about that. She’s a little…” He laughed. “Sorry, I don’t have a word for it.”

  “Tell me what you saw that night, Stew,” Tom prompted, not wanting to waste his day on leads going nowhere.

  Stew led him onto the patio, which was a balcony connecting to the rear of the home. It took eight steps to get up.

  “I was in the bedroom upstairs.” He pointed to the other side of the house. “This is the same level, so you can get the perspective. I was watching the field and I saw a figure.”

  Tom nodded. “What were you doing looking at the farmer’s field?”

  “It was one of the best storms to hit the Creek in a long time, and we usually don’t get such powerful ones this early in the year. I like the thunder and lightning show. It makes me feel alive; energized. Sorry if that doesn’t make any sense,” Stew said.

  “Makes perfect sense,” Tom said, without even knowing what he was saying. “Go on. What did you see?”

  “At first it was nothing. Lightning flashed, and I thought I saw a form moving in the field. There were still some snow patches out there and one bright bolt, and I thought it was a bear or something. Big black figure. I followed its path with my eyes and kept a lookout for the next flash. Only the next time, it wasn’t a big black form any longer. It was a woman.”

  “A woman?” Tom asked, wondering if he was actually getting anywhere. “Could it have been Brittany Tremblay?”

  The man shook his head. “No. Don’t think so. She looked older. White jacket. I know Brittany.”

  Tom’s hackles rose. Most serial killers were between twenty-five and thirty-five, single white males, and this one lived at home with his mom. He could almost see the FBI profile on a whiteboard in DC. “How did you know her?”

  The guy must have realized Tom’s reaction, because he lifted his hands. “No. Not like that. I grew up here. Hell, I used to play baseball with her dad, Ben. I see her around the block all the time. We’re that kind of street where some people wave. I wave to her whole family.”

  For a second, Tom wondered if the man’s guilt drove him to make a call with a story to throw them onto a fake trail, but then he relaxed. He believed the guy. “What else can you tell me about the woman you saw?” He was making notes on his paper pad.

  “Not much else to say. She didn’t look tall. Didn’t look fat or thin. Just normal.”

  “Hair color?” Tom asked.

  “It was far away, and I really only noticed her during a few separate lightning strikes. A couple of them lit the sky up like the Fourth of July, though. Otherwise, I’d have even less to offer you,” Stew said.

  “And this was what time?” Tom’s pen waited on his paper, drawing a light line on the page as he watched Stew.

  “Had to be ten. Yeah, ten, because the show I’d been watching was ending. I missed the last part before the credits while I stared out the window. I had to rewind it. Gotta love digital television.”

  The timeline seemed to add up. “Good. Good.”

  “There’s something
else.” Stew looked nervous, and he wrung his hands together to prove it. “I don’t want to sound crazy here, but I just want Ben and Carol to get their girl back, so I’m going to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  “She changed. Disappeared. Turned into something else.” Stew’s voice was quiet, and he glanced hesitantly at the door, probably making sure his mom wasn’t listening.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tom was getting tired of this town’s fascination with the supernatural, and he could feel the answer coming a mile away.

  “Remember I said I saw a dark blotchy form? One second she was there, stark white jacket against the muddy field; the next flash, she was replaced by a presence. I thought maybe something was in my eye, but I dreamed about it that night. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I…”

  “You thought we wouldn’t believe you,” Tom finished for him.

  “Yeah. Exactly.”

  “You’ve been a lot of help, Stew. Nothing else? Woman of undetermined build, height, and hair color walked behind there at ten PM the night Brittany was taken from her backyard, her pants, socks, and one shoe found in her parents’ outdoor trash can. The woman intermittently turned into a dark form, perhaps alternating with each flash of lightning. That sound about right?” Tom pretended he was reading it off his notepad.

  “When you put it like that… forget I said anything.” Stew started for the door.

  “Thanks for calling. Have a good day. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.” Tom shook the bewildered man’s hand and went to his car.

  Once inside, he banged his palms against the steering wheel. God, he hated this case. This place didn’t feel right. Everyone he talked to had a predilection for the mysterious rumors surrounding the Smith family.

  He raced down the road, wishing one of his leads had given him an inkling of hope.

  Eleven

  “What’s the rest of the story?” Brent didn’t even wait for the car doors to shut all the way to ask. Taylor’s aunt had kept at them for a while before excusing herself. They’d sneaked away quickly and quietly, and Taylor grabbed her keys from Brent. She was doing the driving today.

  “Yeah, tell us what else you found out,” Isabelle said from the backseat. She was in the middle, knees pressing against the center console.

  “Where was I?” Taylor asked them. She couldn’t remember. It felt like hours ago since they’d been in the basement discussing the journal.

  “They started referring to the thing as ‘shadow man’,” Isabelle said.

  Taylor sorted the details she’d found in her mind and remembered the next bit. “Two children vanished in a month, then another three. The village was devastated, and they blamed a man from another home. He was killed by Hans’ own hands, with an ax. There was no judge on that trial.” She was driving up the street but kept talking as she headed for the highway that would lead them to Gilden.

  “That’s messed up,” Brent said. His seatbelt alert was chiming, and Taylor told him to strap in.

  “They learned their mistake when another child went missing. Only this time, it was Otto, their son. As we read last night, Elisabeth’s husband and brother went to look for it, to end the Schattenmann, but what happened that night was almost beyond explanation. Her handwriting was cramped; small and hard to read. I could only make out a few of the words, but she talked about something called a bindung. That translates to ‘bond’. And I could read familie, which is obvious.

  “From what I gathered, they made a bond with this creature. Isabelle, you said it yourself. Grandma talked about having sanctuary from it. A deal, but not for me. This has to have something to do with it.”

  Isabelle grabbed Taylor’s arm from the backseat, drawing the steering wheel to the right. “Are you saying the Schmidts had their child taken and still cut a deal with it? Did they speak to it? Does it talk?”

  Taylor tugged her arm free from her cousin’s grasp. “I don’t know. The last page is gone, torn from the book. But it sounds like it.”

  Brent had been quiet, but now he chimed in. “This is too weird. Are you guys yanking my chain? Is this some sort of prank?” He tried to laugh, but it came out garbled and phony.

  “Sorry, B. This is as real as it gets. Welcome to the real Taylor Alenn. You sure you want to come with us today? I could drop you off after we hit the psych ward.”

  Taylor glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t catch any flicker of regret. If anything, she loved him more from the determined look on his face. “I don’t think so. If this bastard is still lurking around, we have to stop it.”

  He was a great man. Her dad was going to love him too. Her dad. He’d tried calling her, and she’d never called or texted him back. He’d know something was wrong.

  “Did you hear me?” Brent asked.

  “I forgot to call my dad.”

  “So what? Call him later today, tell him you’re studying and that you’re fine,” Brent said.

  “You don’t know my dad. If he calls and hasn’t heard back for a day, he freaks out. Him not calling or texting me is what has me freaked out.” Taylor imagined driving on the highway now, and seeing her mom and dad heading toward Red Creek in their Range Rover. Her little brother would be there as well, thinking about dragons and the upcoming baseball season.

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just call him when we get there,” Isabelle said from behind them.

  “Sure. I will.” Taylor kept driving up the quiet road that connected the towns. As usual, there weren’t many cars on it. This wasn’t a major interstate or anything. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot up here, but the landscape was beautiful. Even in her frazzled state of mind, Taylor could appreciate the budding green trees, the melted snow run-off creating ponds in the ditches, and the grass springing to life all around them. She always thought it was strange to see the farms along the highway devoid of crops, and longed for the point of summer where she could roll her window down and smell the fresh growth, feel the heat on her face.

  Gilden was coming up close: two miles, according to the last sign. The mental health care facility touched on the outskirts of the larger town. Taylor thought Gilden might actually be a city. Billboards claimed upstate New York’s finest golf course, and there were at least half a dozen hotel banners.

  Brent pointed to a restaurant sign. “Burger after this?”

  “We just ate a pile of breakfast,” Isabelle said.

  “I’m a growing boy,” Brent said with a laugh.

  Taylor liked many things about him, and one was how well he acclimated to any situation. He was so good-natured, and she needed people like that around her. She’d really lucked out.

  Taylor saw the sign almost too late and checked her mirror to make sure no one was on her tail before hitting the brakes, making the turn at an unsafe speed. The tires squawked as she cranked the steering wheel, and she let out a laugh, enjoying the thrill as she entered the right lane on the side street heading toward the hospital.

  “What the hell, Tay?” Isabelle asked from the backseat.

  “I told you to wear a seatbelt, didn’t I?” Taylor asked, laughing.

  Brent was grinning at her too. “I swear I didn’t teach her to drive like that.”

  Taylor couldn’t see the hospital yet, but as the road went from paved to gravel, she did see dust being kicked up ahead of them. Trees hugged the narrow roadway, increasingly overgrown as she came closer to the hospital. An old wooden sign was hammered into the edge of the road as the trees opened up. Gilden Psychiatric Care was painted on it, with the established date below. 1931, the same year Red Creek was named. Taylor wondered if it was a coincidence.

  The building was beautiful. It looked far more eclectic and expensive than most structures in the area, and for a building under a hundred years old, it seemed much older. The center of the hospital had a spire sticking into the air, and rounded bay windows stuck out along the second floor. Taylor drove slowly toward it, seeing the par
king lot nearly empty.

  “Spooky,” Brent said as he leaned forward, taking it all in.

  “I wouldn’t say spooky. It’s just a hospital.” Taylor wasn’t sure she believed her own words. She felt an itch inside her stomach, one that she knew couldn’t be scratched. Someone was watching them arrive from an upstairs window. She was wearing a white uniform, and Taylor wondered if it was a nurse. Did they still wear those out-of-date outfits? Every time Taylor thought of a nurse nowadays, they were wearing scrubs with cartoon cats on them, and colorful shoes that didn’t match.

  Things might be run differently out here in Gilden. Driving up to the hospital, Taylor felt like she was in a place time forgot. The figure in white turned, easing away from the window.

  “He’s right, Taylor. This place is spooky.” Isabelle was already opening the rear door and sliding out of the car just as the car parked.

  Taylor turned the engine off, grabbed her purse and notepad, and stepped onto the gravel parking lot. The stone building was dark gray; each of the five large bay windows had a peak above it on the second floor, giving it a majestic look. Brent took the lead, and soon they were on the grounds, met by a wide sidewalk lined with flower pots with already-bloomed annuals.

  They must have grown them in a greenhouse, because it was too early for them otherwise. Taylor wished she could admire them more, but she was distracted by the looming meeting, and that was only if they permitted her to speak to the kid. She hoped her plan worked out.

  The giant oak trees were bereft of leaves, but Taylor felt the urge to stare at the stately old trees, sporadically placed around the grounds.

  “Come on, T,” Brent said, and Taylor glanced up to see Isabelle and Brent close to the hospital’s entrance. A breeze blew by, sending a shiver through her. She wished she’d worn a sweater instead of her blouse, but she’d wanted to portray a professional atmosphere, and to seem older than she was.